


The Bad Poems Won’t Save the Despot (Unfortunately, Neither Will the Good)

by Filigranka



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: (thank you captain obvious type of tag. I know), Drabble, Everybody Dies, Gen, Hosnian System, I have the bad habit of dragging poetry into my fics and tags. sorry poor poems, OCs - Freeform, Worldbuilding, only the victims are never wrong (but they lack charisma points), the older I get the more I care about civilians, the view is superb. with the help of the proper perspective, world(s) unbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 01:21:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15328584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigranka/pseuds/Filigranka
Summary: ...And so, Hosnian is damned. Martyrs are made. Symbols are painted on the galaxy's sky.6x100 words about the last minutes of civilians in this poor system.





	The Bad Poems Won’t Save the Despot (Unfortunately, Neither Will the Good)

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Złe wiersze nie nawrócą despoty](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13859343) by [Filigranka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigranka/pseuds/Filigranka). 



 

I

 

‘What can one do at the end of the world, if not kiss the girl?’, mutters Pavko; darn, even now professor Lishu’s voice in his head’s counting syllables.

He should post it on his holoprofile. They would get billions of likes. Postmortem, but still.

Perhaps he should kiss Alynn, put his hands under her dress, without darn – fucking – questions. Who would punish him? But he would die a nice, shy virgin, without even the taste of—

‘Kiss the boy.’ Alynn kisses him deeply, like she thought she could hide between his lips.

Snowbirds tweet, panicked, for a half minute more.

 

II

 

‘Stop.’ Mark puts a hand on Dh’aor’s arm. ‘It’s all over.’

Dh’aor doesn’t understand why: CPR was going well, the victim was young. Her spine and head looked OK. If they can restore the circulation, her, chances would be high—

The light’s wrong. A red sphere’s rising on the horizon. A second sun.

‘What’s—‘

‘Fucking politics. Fucking politicians fucking quarreling! I can’t even call Katie and my parents with goodbyes, the signal’s blocked...’

Dh’aor thinks about his daughter—and prefers to return to restitution. Let Mark dwell alone. He counts carefully, like on the first day of his course.

 

III

 

Kipp, a Rodian who—as the stereotype goes—lives off stealing and making booze, sobers suddenly.

‘Seeshi? Seeshi! Wake up, c’mon, I was joking!’ He yanks Twi’lek’s body. Seeshi’s body. Covered in blood. Compound vibroblade lies next to it. Kipp knows it’s a cliche. He’s been to many parties that ended with slaughter.

‘Seeshi, we’re gonna die anyway! Just wait ten seconds for us, big difference! I’m not mad at you! Seeshi, listen, I’m really sorry!’

Seeshi doesn’t react. Kipp bends over him, his cheek landing in a puddle of blood. He closes his eyes and pretends he’s not alone.

 

IV

 

‘Mammy, look, it’s so pretty! In the sky!’

Marri looks at her daughter. At the sky. Well. She can’t change anything. Nothing can change anything. There’s no need to scare her girl. Better let her laugh.

‘Very pretty. We will go buy you a pittin, OK? And the companion droid from the commercials. And we’ll get you a chocolate cake. Tomorrow.’

‘Really? Like, really, really, seriously? Why not now?’

‘Shops’re closed.’ She blinks. Coughs. ‘Think about the pittin’s name.’

‘I don’t know. I’ve got to see it first! We’ll really go tomorrow? Pinky promise?’

‘First thing in the morning, honey.’

 

V

 

That’s how you wasted your life, you idiot—thinks Jahryn Kullin—arguing over meaningless bills, getting hush money from all sides. First Order including. And you still have some time to whine.

He checks the upload status. A few percent. Better than nothing. He has tons of Senate papers with him. Government’s channels might get the signal across. Even a few percent of these good-for-nothing projects—to think he’s dying for them, him, the drunkard and the swindler!—will ease things up for the bastard who’ll come after him.

At least they won’t call him “a fool”, but “an idealist”.

 

VI

 

The night sale in the capital’s main shopping centre “Promenade” lures countless creatures in. Tutey, slim Gorum, is one of them. He runs, waging his tail and using it to tactically throw small electronics under the feet of his rivals. Everybody hurries after the newest model of cleaning droid, RT-54.

Tutey lives off getting things at sales and then re-selling them on the holonet, usually to the backwater Rims’ planets. He’s already counting margins in his head, as he finally—after kicking some elderly lady out of the way—grabs one of these shining wonders and melts away in triumph.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> After writing thousands and thousands words about certain genocidal general I decide to balance myself and wrote 600 words about his victims. Well. It's still more than Disney did for them. 
> 
> **Technical miscellanea** : in the Polish source the title (+summary) is Ryszard Krynicki's poem. I don't know the official English translation of this one, though, so for a fic purposes I create my own English, Krynicki's inspired version (it lacks one verse). I apologise to Krynicki once more. ;)
> 
> The original drabble set was written for the ficathon on Mirriel (Polish fic forum) - 7 prompts, 7 days, 24 hours write the fic, this type of challenge - and the prompt was this graffiti with "Love" written into a "Revolution".
> 
> Nibi was kind enough to translate the third drabble for me, to show it's possible at all, and potboy was my wonderful beta. I changed a few things just before posting, so any mistakes you find are on me and me only. Credits for "world unbuilding" tag goes to potboy, too, thank you very much, that made me laugh.
> 
> You can always talk to me on tumblr, I ~~spam~~ go by Filigranka there, too.


End file.
